Ugly Obsession
by immo
Summary: Christine's thoughts during 'Point of no return'. Could I betray the man who once inspired my voice...


Ugly Obsession  
Phantom of the Opera fanfiction  
immo - immo@hamena.org  
rating:G  
  
His voice was something you would hear from an angel. That beautiful miracle that was  
his voice, the brilliance of his mind... the dignity that he carried himself with. The  
murderous hands that so softly caressed the ivory keys of that ebony piano in his candle-lit  
lair.  
A demon's face on the body of a man. A devil disguising himself as an angel.  
"In your mind you've already succumbed to me... now you are here with me. No second  
thoughts. You've decided... you've decided..."  
And I have, as I stood frozen, watching that man, listening to him, remembering the  
first time he had crept into my life. My Angel of Music sent to me by my beloved father...  
and I had felt the magic of that soft whispering voice, that seemed to come from everywhere,  
yet nowhere at once.  
And even now, I could feel my heart, my soul, my very body betray me as I responded  
as I always did. And again, I wanted to run to him and lose myself in the opium of his voice.  
The smokey tendrils of his obsessive love, that clung to me in a bittersweet memory. It made  
me forget, forget all that had happened, all the blood, the terror, the death... Raoul...  
"You have brought me, to that point where words run dry, where speech disappears into  
silence... silence..."  
I found myself singing, urged on by his eyes that glittered behind his mask. And the  
song gave me power, allowed me to seek out help, but struck me motionless as he approached  
me, gloved hand reaching out for mine, and I responded unwillingly.  
Everyone, the managers, the stagehands, the policemen... were watching the opera with  
expressions on their faces, bordering on ecstacy. I believe, if I hadn't been part of the  
song, I would be completely under his thrall...  
He was intoxicating. Every movement, every gesture, every heavy breath laden with  
the sweetness of his song...  
I know he loves me, and loves me. The love which could surpass even death. He will  
never let me go, he'll keep me in a euphoric cage of Hell's music, keep me bound to him  
forever in the darkness.  
And I'll never ever escape him.  
He's everything I've dreamed of, since my father died. All I've struggled to be, the  
star that I longed to be, he has bestowed so graciously upon me. I'm wretched, ungrateful,  
unfaithful to my angel. I am a selfish child, still. I want the dream, but I'm unwilling to  
pay the price.  
I could feel his breath now, feel his grip on my mind again... not an angel, but a  
devil, a devil!  
He is my everything. All I am, and all I'll be in the future will be because of him.  
He is the man who inspired my voice to the greatness it is now. And its such a little thing  
to ask for, to love him. To be his wife... til death do us part...  
And yet I cannot help feeling such deep disgust, everytime I look at him. He is  
perfect the way he is, yet I could never love him. Every time he stops singing, an image of  
his distorted face flashes through my head. A pause in his song, and I remember his misshapen  
visage. The lattice of blue veins running underneath that filmy skin, the living skull with  
the deepset eyes that I long to look into and love, yet I cannot. I cannot, cannot.  
I'm afraid.  
If I ever lose him, I know I won't ever sing the way I do again. I will still  
astonish the crowds of opera-goers, who wait impatiently for the melodrama to explode on  
stage, in bursts of song. But I look out now, into the audience, and I know they are slaves  
to our voices on stage. Weaving so perfectly as one. My voice, trained by him, has been used  
on stage, I'm grateful. But these are just practises in which he presides over, watching me  
learn, watching me announce to the world his prodigy, his existence. I am his voice when he  
is there. We are one, as the song melds together, and we are one voice.  
One body, one soul, his hand leaves nothing but dry, silken heat in its path. He  
sings, and I could feel his lips trail down my lips.  
And I'm looking at him again.  
He's pleading with me. My angel doesn't have to be down on his knees for me to know.  
I could learn to love him. To not feel nauseous at the sight of his face. I could learn to  
live in the darkness with him, to love him fully, to forget everything and just fall into my  
addiction of him.  
And I could feel that band of gold, that will forever chain me eternally to him, slip  
onto my finger. And as I reach up to touch his face, partially obscured by that smooth white  
mask, I could feel myself recoil.  
My skin crawled at the sight of him, the feel of him, the smell of him. Even the  
sound of him.  
The truth is, I could never get over my repulsion of him.  
Everytime he touches me, its like a slug has crawled across me, and I cannot shake  
the feeling of abject loathing I have for him. Nor could I shake the fact that I'm so deeply  
in love with him, it scares me.  
He kills without a thought, he murders all that's good...  
I know I can't refuse, and yet I wish I could.  
Oh god if I agree, what horrors wait for me, within the Phantom's opera?  
The words rang so true, when I had spoken them in the company of my scheming fiancee  
and the managers, Andre and Firmin.  
"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime..." Erik licked his lips anxiously,  
an insane light in his eyes. Knowing that I would reject him, yet holding onto that one  
lifeline that he has. He knows that I love him, that I would do anything for him. Anything.  
If it just weren't for the fact that I could not stand him.  
"Lead me, save me from my solitude..."  
I close my eyes to him, trying to will him out of my heart, out of my brain, away  
from me! But his grip on my hand shocks me back to reality everytime, and I yearn to open my  
eyes and reassure myself of his existence... this horror that I must have, yet do not want.  
I'm a horrible person, and I know it now, as he stands looking at me. I could imagine  
him as a little boy, looking hopefully up to his mother for one caress, one sign of love...  
and I know exactly what his mother would do when she looked at those grasping fingers and the  
face hidden behind the mask.  
"Say you want me with you, here beside you..." That voice wavers with emotions so  
strong, I am sure the spellbound audience weeps. And I could taste the tears on my cheeks.  
The prima donna, Carlotta is an incredibly vain and petty person. Beauty is  
everything to her, and she spends millions of francs to keep her skin as smooth and wrinkle-  
free as a child. But I am perhaps the most vain. I could not love dearest Erik, I would not  
be able to stand the sight of him. And even if I blind myself and just listen to the wondrous  
sounds that come from his throat, I would not be able to stand him.  
I would want to touch him, to know that I haven't gone mad, to be able to feel those  
pianist's hands, touch his face... and it disgusts me to want so horribly to feel his lips on  
mine. And I will never get past the ugliness of his face. The black mess that is his soul  
destined for Hell, I could stand. But not his face. Not an eternity of that grinning mask of  
death, that looks at me so piteously.  
I cannot, Erik. I'm so sorry... I cannot.  
"Anywhere you go, let me go too--"  
I'm so sorry, Erik.  
"Christine! That's all I ask of--"  
I wrench of his mask in one motion, calmly, and the spell is broken. The sight of his  
face launches everyone out of their stupor, and I could see him looking at me. Looking at me  
with such a hurt expression on that hideous face of his, I felt an incredible amount of  
shame.  
Each gasp of horror, each scream from the crowd, each loud whisper of 'monstre!' that  
assaulted us made him cringe. It was like a physical blow, everytime he looked out past the  
bright lights, and saw someone turn away in horror.  
The stage was his cage, and he was a freak to be gaped at.  
I'm sorry, Erik. I love you, yet I cannot. I need you so much... but I don't have the  
courage to love you.  
He looks at me again, enraged. And he runs towards me, and sweeps his cloak around  
us. I'm so close to his face, so close...  
I can't help but scream.  
And he chokes out warbled laughter, in between sobs, as we fall down... down... into  
his kingdom of kind darkness, where no-one, no-one will see his face. 


End file.
